Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,26
arm. They walked into the music room where a German pianist was scheduled to begin shortly. “Shall we take our seats?”
“Yes.” Clara allowed him to lead her to the front row. They were the first guests to sit down. The pianist’s assistant was arranging sheet music; a liveried footman stood near the open doors.
“You’ve been very popular this evening,” Lord Rawdon said. “Why is it that Mrs. Gunther hasn’t dragged you away from any of the other gentlemen? She doesn’t disapprove of me, does she?” His last comment dripped with sarcasm.
Clara gave him an apologetic look. “She is on a mission for my mother, I’m afraid. She wants to be sure I am married off to the highest-ranking peer possible, and the most respectable.”
“Ah, the respectable part... That is where I fall short.”
Clara tried to explain. “She’s a very proper lady. She comes from old money. Mother was thrilled when Mrs. Gunther agreed to accompany me to London. She knew Mrs. Gunther would have the highest standards conceivable, and that I needed someone with a very strong hand to lead me in the right direction.”
His eyebrows rose. “And she took you to a Cakras Ball?”
Clara gave him a quick, heated glance, then returned her cool gaze to the front of the room. “That was a mistake, and I do not thank you for reminding me of it.”
He grinned and sat forward. “Well now. This is becoming interesting. Your mother felt you needed a strong hand. I detect something naughty in your past.” He watched her for a moment. “Why didn’t your mother accompany you herself?”
“Because she is with my younger sister, Adele, who is having her own first Season in New York.”
“You didn’t wish to debut in London together?”
Clara felt her spine bristle at the direction of their conversation. Unlike most of the other Englishmen she had met, the marquess had no qualms about asking indiscreet questions.
They were heading into dangerous territory.
“No,” she tried to explain. “We did not wish to debut together.” She glanced up at him, uneasily.
“I see,” he replied.
“I wanted her to have her own special time,” Clara explained. “Without her older sister around. Things didn’t go that well for me the year before last. Hence Mrs. Gunther’s strong hand.”
Clara didn’t know why she was telling him all this. It pointed back at her mistakes. She supposed she felt that he, of all people would understand.
Maybe that’s why she was so attracted to him. He didn’t make her feel inadequate. He lived by his own rules and did not judge her or anyone else by society’s strictures.
Most people—if they knew the whole story—would call her fast or unprincipled, which she was not. Yes, there was a thrill-seeker lurking in her heart, but she was not fast. She believed in love and marriage and fidelity and she wanted a decent man for a husband.
That was her struggle, she supposed. Her definition of decent wasn’t quite as black and white as the rest of the world’s.
“How could a New York Season possibly not go well for you?” the marquess asked. “You are the loveliest creature I’ve seen since...well, since forever.”
She warmed at the compliment, but still wanted to be cautious where her heart was concerned. She stared straight ahead at the piano.
“What, no answer?” He urged her to look at him. “Don’t tell me you botched it up. Made a few social blunders?” He sat back and laughed. “Is that why you’re here? Because you used the wrong fork once and can’t show your face in New York?”
“Stop teasing me,” she said, slapping his arm with her fan. “I can certainly show my face. I just wished for different surroundings and fresh conversation, that’s all.”
He gave her an exaggerated nod as if he didn’t believe her. “You must realize that now you have to tell me what happened, and spare nothing, I need all the shocking details.”
She glared at him, astounded. “Sir, you are impossibly rude. And there are no shocking details.”
“There must be. You’re blushing. There are red blotches on your neck, right there.”
He pointed just below her earlobe.
She slapped his hand again. “You are very wicked.”
He chuckled and leaned back again. “Yes, I suppose I am, but you still haven’t told me how you stumbled and landed on your face during your New York debut.”
“I did not land on my face.” She said nothing for a moment. “All right, fine. A man proposed to me—a very unsuitable man my parents did not approve of.”